Leave a Trail (43 page)

Becker pulled his phone and dialed. “On my mark, Gil.” He paused; Badger tasted the adrenaline in his mouth—like burning rubber. “Mark.” He put his phone away. “When they turn in, we go.”

The Bulls’ grey van pulled down the empty road. A couple of guards noticed and watched but did not raise their weapons. Then Gil gunned it and turned hard, running both guards right over before they could do more than aim.

“NOW!” Isaac yelled, and everybody ran, over the rise and down toward likely doom.

Badger went away somehow—totally alert, totally alive, in sync with the plan, his senses firing faster than they ever had before, but also like he wasn’t there. Like he was watching this all play out from somewhere else. Not from above, not like he was hovering over the scene like some kind of angel or ghost, but like he was in another place entirely, watching a movie.

The air was so dense with gunfire that Badger was nearly deaf, and he now understood the phrase ‘hail of bullets’ vividly, because bullets were landing everywhere, making round puffs and divots in the dust. He aimed and fired, aimed and fired, aimed and fired, with a clinical interest in everything that was happening. A tally ran in the back of his head. Five kills. Six.

When he was punched so hard in the back he lost all breath and slammed to the ground, he was merely interested. But from a foggy distance he heard Show shouting, “Badge! Badge! Fuck!” And then Show was dragging him to the side of the building and standing over him, firing.

He looked down. “You okay, little brother?”

Badger tried to talk and had no breath. He inhaled—and that hurt. The pain brought him back. “What happened?”

Show fired again. “You got hit. Can you get up yet? Shoot?”

Badger lifted his gun and discovered that his arms worked. Thank God for Kevlar. Burned like fire to breathe, but he was not unused to working through pain. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good. We need you up. Time to take the building.”

~oOo~

They got an unexpected and powerful boon in the form of an uprising from the people who were working, under duress, in the plant. Those workers took down nearly half the men inside, and then Zeke and Tommy covered them as they led them outside. When the building seemed to be clear, the Horde, together again, took a precious beat for a status check. Isaac called Bart—no Scorpions deaths. Diaz was down but not mortally. Isaac told Bart to join them and then called Becker.

There was no answer.

Isaac was about to hang up and then brought the phone quickly back to his ear. “Beck?...Eight B—oh fuck. Fuck me. Who else?...Okay. Okay. Yeah. Hold the perimeter. Yeah.”

He closed his phone. “Becker’s dead. Terry and D.C., too.”

There was a moment of shocked quiet, and then Bart came in through the front doors, the glass of which had been shot out.

He scanned the Horde’s faces. “Fuck. Who’d we lose?”

Show answered. “Becker, Terry, D.C.”

“Damn.”

Isaac shook it off them all. “Let’s make it count. We got three more goons and Vega between us and justice. Vega walks from this. We need him to walk from this.”

“You said he was the one who emptied Hav.” Bart’s tone was acidic.

“He walks from this. He gave us this. He gave us Santaveria.”

“For you and Len doing hard time.”

“Bart, you fuck with this and you
don’t
walk away.
We
were there.
We
make the call. And it’s made.”

Bart stared Isaac down in a way Badger had never seen him do before, but then he nodded and took one step back.

~oOo~

Now they were the ones doing the outnumbering, and the three remaining guards—all three as tall as Show and probably twice as heavy—went down fast and hard. And then they were standing in front of a steel door hidden behind a regular set of double doors. A panic room. Isaac lifted the landline phone from the desk and keyed in a number. A few seconds later, there was a metallic
clunk
, and Isaac walked to the steel door and swung it open.

Inside was a man Badger assumed must be Julio Santaveria, gagged and tied to a chair. From the fierce expressions of his brothers, there was no doubt. David Vega leaned against the wall near the door, a handgun held loosely at his side.

“I believe you had an appointment with Señor Santaveria.”

Isaac nodded. “I did.”

Vega stepped out of the panic room and into the office. Len stepped forward, training his AK on Santaveria.

Nodding toward a rolling, wood-grain cabinet, Vega told Isaac, “I think you’ll find a good selection of tools for whatever you have planned next. I can guarantee you six hours without any attention from law enforcement. I need to be able to identify what’s left.”

Isaac nodded, but he didn’t thank the agent.

Vega continued. “Leon Seaver announced his resignation this afternoon. He will be out of office on the first of November. He will not seek another public sector job of any kind. He will not be a problem for you again. I won’t give you details.”

“I don’t want details. Just want him gone.”

“Done, then.”

Isaac nodded. Vega paused, waiting for something more, but Badger knew if he was waiting for gratitude, he wouldn’t get more than he already had. He was breathing. Thanks enough.

He took two steps toward the door and stopped. “Maybe this won’t help, but I’ll tell you anyway. My cover’s blown, and I’m called back to Washington. I leave behind a woman and three children. I’ll never see them again. That’s the price I pay for the things I did for my job.”

All the Horde, and Bart, looked at Vega now, but he returned only Isaac’s gaze. Then Isaac nodded and turned away. And Vega left.

Isaac walked into the panic room and removed Santaveria’s gag. He began to speak at once. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Isaac. My power and resources are vast, and this is only a small—”

Isaac punched him, and his nose crunched and flattened. “Badge, bring me a chair, would ya? My back is fucked all to shit today.”

Badger brought him a leather-upholstered side chair, and Isaac sat with a groan. “Damn, I’m gettin’ old and broken down.”

Through his shattered face, Santaveria tried again, “Isaac. We are men of—”

Isaac punched him again. “Now that I’m sitting, I can go all night. Shut up, asshole.
You
aren’t a man at all. Don’t speak again unless I ask you a fucking question. I’ve been thinking about how this meet would go. How we should take what you owe. I had some really good ideas.”

He looked around the room. It was whitewashed concrete, with a sofa, a low table in front of it, stores of food and water, and a locked gun cabinet. Isaac looked back at Len. “You see a way we can string him up? Arms out?”

Len examined the room, his gun still trained on Santaveria. He reached out and tested a shelf near him. “Yeah. If we have chains long enough, I can rig them from there to there.” He pointed from one back corner to the other, where the shelving supports could provide grounding for the chains.

“Show, check that cabinet, see what Vega left us.”

Show did.

“Yeah. Chains. Bungees. Cuffs. Smelling salts. A full kit of knives and another of woodworking gouges. Bolt cutters. Pliers. Scalpels. Hammer. Hatchet. A blowtorch.” There was a pause. “And a bullwhip.”

Santaveria’s eyes were bugged out behind the blooming, bloody mass of his nose, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Nice.” Isaac practically purred. “Excellent. So, Julio. I was thinking. We Horde, we’re Northmen. We come from Viking stock. You probably knew that. Did you?”

Santaveria nodded.

“Vikings were visceral people. Physical. Quicker to fight than to talk. Rather fuck than woo. You know?”

Again, Santaveria nodded. Badger thought he seemed very small. Unequal to Isaac in every way.

“The Vikings had a kind of execution ritual. The Blood Eagle. Ever heard of it?”

Santaveria shook his head slowly.

“It’s a thing of beauty, really. The condemned is strung up with his arms out, and his back is opened—one cut, to the bone, up the spine.”

Santaveria began to pant.

Isaac leaned forward. “Then the ribs are hacked away from the spine and pulled out through the back, splaying them wide.”

Santaveria swallowed loudly and made some kind of attempt to calm himself. He failed.

“And then, the lungs are pulled out and laid over the shoulders. The condemned lives through all that and dies when his breath and blood give out.” Isaac spread his long arms wide. “The body looks like a bloody eagle.”

“
Por favor
. Please,” Santaveria whispered. The room stank with the smell of his sweat.

“It’s said that if the condemned withstood all that and died without crying out, he would retain his place in Valhalla. The Valkyrie would sweep him up to a warrior’s reward.”

Isaac leaned back and stretched awkwardly. Badger could tell, and he could see in his brothers’ eyes that they, too, could tell, that Isaac was really struggling with his own pain, but he was focused. “And that’s where I hang up. I thought that would be a good, painful death for you. A death that honored our Viking heritage. But you know what? That’s an execution of respect. For an equal. That’s a warrior’s death. And you, Julio, are
No
.
Fucking
.
Warrior
. You wave your flaccid hand and have other people fight your battles for you. You are a vile piece of excrement who thinks he’s strong because he doesn’t care about anything. That doesn’t make you strong, Julio. That just makes you an asshole. So no Blood Eagle for you. You are unworthy of that death.”

Santaveria sighed. “
Gracias a Dios!
”

Isaac laughed and stood. “Show, Len—strip him bare and string him up—face to the wall. Badge, bring that cart in. Bart—keep a gun on him.”

Isaac’s brothers did as he instructed. When Santaveria was naked and chained to the wall, his arms outstretched and slightly raised, his head turned sharply to the side, his feet barely touching the floor, his bladder went. Badger enjoyed watching the skinny little worm he’d seen between Santaveria’s legs ooze dark piss down the wall.

Again, Isaac laughed. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have made it to Valhalla anyway, Julio. Your piss is rank, by the way. I’d suggest you get that checked out, but we’re gonna cure you right up right here.”

He opened the rolling cart. “This isn’t an execution. This is a debt collection. That’s our way, too. So here’s how the rest of today is gonna play out for you, Julio. The men in this room—the ones that can be here—you owe them. And they are going to take what you owe.”

He turned, “Show, you want to start?”

Show stared. “This was the plan?”

“Not until you told me what Vega left us. He understands our way. This is right. This is justice.” He looked at Bart. “You can stand in for Hav. You want that?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I want the kill.”

Bart nodded. Badger didn’t think anyone would have disputed that Isaac should have the kill.

Show took off his bulletproof vest and picked up the bullwhip. The Horde backed out of the room and gave him the space he needed. He unwound the whip and cocked his arm. It cracked viciously against Santaveria’s back, and the king of the Perro Blanco drug cartel yelped.

By the time Show was finished, Santaveria had stopped screaming, the sound coming from his mouth a pathetic mewl instead. His back and legs were bloody, raw meat. And Show was dripping sweat.

Santaveria was fading into unconsciousness. Without being asked, Bart brought Isaac an ampule of smelling salts, and Isaac snapped it and waved it under Santaveria’s nose until he was fully alert.

“Len. Your turn.” Show and Badger turned Santaveria around and chained him again. When his back hit the wall, he howled. Len chose a thick gouge. As he came on, Santaveria’s scream became an undulating siren that hit an earsplitting pitch when Len got to work. When he turned away, his hands and face were bloody. He tossed the eyeball to the ground and stepped on it as if it were a cockroach.

“Badge.”

Badger didn’t move. He could not believe the horror of this day, this year. He was sick and exhausted. He harbored hatred for Julio Santaveria in his every atom, but this…this freakshow that made him relive his nightmares—made him
perpetrate
them—he couldn’t make it right in his head. He couldn’t. He understood the debt. He understood that this was the Horde way. He did not judge his brothers. He understood. This was their justice.

But it was not his.

“Badge?” Isaac’s voice was gentle.

“No.”

Isaac came over to him. “Brother?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. It feels—I can’t. I’m sorry, Isaac. I don’t mean to let you down.”

Isaac looked down at him for a terrifying moment. Badger could not read his eyes. Then his President pulled him into an embrace. “Don’t be sorry for following what you know in your heart is right. There’s never shame in that. You can take ten, little brother.”

“No. I want to stay. I just…can’t do that. Not even to him.” He rubbed his chest. Even through the Kevlar vest he was still wearing, it seemed he could feel the ragged flesh of his scars.

Isaac nodded. “Bart?”

“Yeah. I can.” He walked to the cart and took a large pair of bolt cutters. When Santaveria’s fingers and thumbs were scattered on the floor at their feet, Bart went for the blowtorch.

By the time Isaac walked up to the thing that Julio Santaveria had become, the Horde’s great enemy had lost the ability to make any sound other than a hoarse, halfhearted keen. But, with the help of the ampules Vega had left them, he was conscious. With a silent plea in his one remaining eye, he watched Isaac approach.

Using the long blade he’d worn tied to his thigh, Isaac sliced Santaveria from hip to hip. He did not reach in for his intestines, but they fell out anyway. As the man who had made the orders to perpetrate unspeakable horrors on the Horde and untold others faded from this life, Isaac leaned in and growled, “Paid in full.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE